


Secret Files & Origins

by clex_monkie89



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clex_monkie89/pseuds/clex_monkie89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elseworlds">Elseworlds</a> tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Files & Origins

No, wait.

Start at the end.

—

Jess's head is a bloody mess: grey matter and meat and bone fragments, swimming in a lake of red, red blood. The eye she has left is milky and clouded over, open just enough that it almost looks like she's sleeping, if you get low enough to the ground to block out everything but that one part.

Every bone in Dean's chest—his ribs, his breastbone, everything—is snapped and cracked and broken. His lungs are mangled in wires; they're like Swiss cheese, punctured over and over and over with pieces of ribcage still trapped inside them. At least, the parts that aren't dangling from them. That's what happens when a flyer who doesn't fly panics.

Sam's corpse is cleaner, crumpled in on itself with a stain of red the size of a blue plate special right in the middle of his back.

—

No, no. Not that ending.

The real one.

The good one.

The one that sticks.

—

The first thing Dean does is kick down the fence.

"It isn't even white," Sam says.

"It's puke green."

"It's mint green."

"If it were legal for all of us to get married, I'd be divorcing you both by now," Jess says from the porch.

"You're not getting joint custody of the car."

"Dean started it."

"I'm getting alcohol," Jess tells them, getting up and making her way into their brand new used house. "Please don't kill each other in the front yard. I want our neighbors to get to know us before they hate us."

—

Okay, now talk about how they got there.

—

They take the 202 east, out past where Dean had that showdown with Krystaline that took out the town hall. They turn north when they hit the city where Sam got unmasked. Just like every other time they come within fifty miles of there, Sam starts his ranting about how nobody cares about the justice system nowadays, and he doesn't stop for two more states.

—

No, not—one more time, but not so literal.

—

Jonathan Edward Winchester met Mary Catherine Campbell on June fifteenth, in a hospital in Lawrence, Kansas where she was "volunteering." She accidentally knocked him down a flight of stairs and broke his ankle.

—

This is on purpose, isn't it? Not how they came to exist on this planet, how they came to be in their blue house with their kicked-down fence and their creaky stairs.

—

Jess is still asleep, arms and sides bandaged, back sore and aching from being thrown through two plate glass windows the day before.

Sam is reading something boring that makes Dean want to put his head through a wall rather than ask about.

Dean is stalking the obituaries. He's not using his black pen, which is reserved for natural deaths, or his blue pen for potential serial killers. He's got Jess's sparkly pink glitter pen, which is not usually used by anyone who is not Jess and thus has no set designation.

"Old lady in Wilmont kicked it. No family, no friends, no cats to piss all over the place."

"No," Sam says, turning the page without looking up.

"What's wrong with Wilmont?"

"We're not finding our home base the same way we find places to squat."

"So you can show seven years of renter's history for the three of us on an application?"

"Yeah, Dean, it's called lying. You may have heard of it."

"Sammy, I am shocked that you would think to stoop so low."

"Shut up."

"All we have to do is check the place out."

"I don't wanna live somewhere some poor old lady died in," Jess mumbles from the bed. She's curled into a small ball of pain, the covers pulled up over her head.

"Want me to find one a mean old lady died in?" Dean asks as he reaches over to the unit under the window and turns on the heat.

"I want a house someone didn't die in."

"Or an apartment," Sam adds.

"A house. I want a house. I don't want to have to climb a fire escape to avoid nosy neighbors."

Dean glares at Sam.

Sam glares at Dean.

Jess calls an actual realtor when she wakes up, before her shower but after she brushes her teeth and kisses her boys good morning.

—

That wasn't so hard. Now talk about the angel.

—

The angel is a warrior of God. They come in many different ranks, from archangels to guardians to seraphim and beyond. They do not understand free will, yet manage to display some on occasion, when pressed.

—

...Castiel. Tell them about Castiel.

—

Castiel is the angel of Thursday, created before there were days or hours or measurable time, in the same instant as the rest of his angel brethren.

He is a new archangel, though humans, for the most part, do not know this as of yet. He is young and more human than angel at times, and he loves his Father and his Father's creations more than they have created words for.

This does not stop him from occasionally wanting to smite three of his charges on a regular basis.

Even an angel's patience only goes so far.

—

That's better. Now let's hear about the time Castiel helped save the world. The first time.

—

It was a Tuesday when Rome fell.

—

...That one was my fault.

The first time Castiel helped saved the world after he met Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, and Jessica Moore.

—

Dean did not believe, even when shown shadows of Castiel's wings.

Sam did not question, even though he had not seen the angel with his own eyes.

Jess did not know what to think, having been raised with an occasionally Jewish father and a practicing Buddhist mother.

They went straight to Bobby's, and between the four of them, they spent a week and a half going through every mention of angels in Bobby's books, Oracle's files, and anywhere else they could find mention of them.

—

Explain how Sam, Jess, Dean, and Castiel met.

—

"You don't look very angelic," Jess tells him.

"This is a vessel, a devout man allowing me time on this planet with him."

"You couldn't've picked someone who looked a little less like a serial killer?" Dean asks, putting away his gun.

"Dude," Sam says.

"What?"

"You're gonna go to hell again."

"Sam," Jess snaps.

"Hey, it's not my fault he picked some kind of hooker-killing holy man."

Castiel is not interested in the conversation. It matters not to him what appearance his vessel gives; Jimmy is pure of heart, and untainted. "Would it make your more comfortable if I were wearing a combination of leather and spandex?"

No one reacts for a moment.

"Did the angel just tell a joke?" Jess asks.

"I think he's mocking your costume, dude," Sam says, a little bewildered.

—

I... I don't know exactly where I went wrong there.

Let's try this a different way. Start at the beginning, when Sam and Dean saved Jess that first time.

—

There's pain. Bright-hot, intense, and almost unbearable. Her nose is broken, she can tell, can feel the blood and hear the whistle of air through her nose, but it's completely numbed, everything else being drowned out by the pain in her shoulders and the intestines she can see against her nightgown.

Dean's got her, wrapped tight in his arms and pulled close to his chest. She wants to call for Sam, wants to ask where he is, but she can't think past the pain, can't see past the fire, and her mouth isn't working, won't make words out of anything.

Everything goes dark.

She wakes up in a white room, with overly-white walls, a steady beeping sound, and pain so bad she's crying. It hurts to breathe, and it hurts to move. Someone makes a shushing noise, and there are lips on her forehead, then she feels a warm rush in her arm. IV drip. Probably morphine.

The next time she wakes up, it still hurts, but she isn't afraid she's dying anymore. Sam's on her right with his brother behind him. Her dad's on her left, and there's no shrieking or crying, so her mom is probably outside with her baby brother.

Sam's hunched over in a wheelchair, but she can hear the clack, clack, clack of his feet jiggling nervously on the pedals. He's got a mouth full of metal and a bandage covering most of the left side of his jaw and face.

Dean has a line of stitches on his forehead and an impressively bad black eye, but he's wearing actual clothing, so she doesn't feel bad for not worrying about him.

—

That sounded significantly more depressing than it really was. We'll try this differently. Tell us about how they got together.

—

The club is closed, which basically means that you need to have someone in the club who already knows about you to get in. Or, you need to really fucking suck at secrets like Zach. Zach didn't have to get sponsored because he is a giant dumbass, and the president/founder/Superman-wannabe of the club caught him showing off his powers while trying to get laid.

But then Zach sponsored Becky because super twins can't be super twins if only one of them is in the Justice League, or whatever the fuck her dumb explanation was. Becky sponsored Jess because Jess is made of love and whiskey most of the time and cannot hide powers from roommates very well, especially when she is made of whiskey.

Not literally made of it, of course. That would just be weird

Anyway, Jess got in the club because of her roommate, who got in because of her brother who got in because he's dumb like football players after too many tackles. Brady got in because of James, who got in because of Zack-with-a-K, who started the club with President Wannabe.

No one knows Sam, except for Brady. Which makes sense, seeing as how they're roommates. Brady's sponsoring Sam and being an ass because he likes surprises way more than any self-respecting almost-adult should.

"Well?" President Wannabe—Andrew, to his suck-ups—asks. "What's his power?"

"It's not deafness," Brady tells him. He's bouncing on his feet, and it doesn't take a genius to tell he's excited. Previous experience tells Jess this is either going to be hilarious or get campus security called on them. Again. "You could always ask him."

"He can also talk, too," Sam adds from behind Brady.

"Look," Becky whispers, leaning over. "He's got a Muppet face! I bet he turns into a Muppet."

"No way," Zach whispers back, completely interrupting Jess's love affair with her venti white chocolate caramel mocha as he leans across her. "Brady looks like he's gonna piss his pants with joy. He's gotta have super strength, too, or something."

"I can ground myself," Sam says before Jess can make her guess. She feels cheated; she can't help it.

"I have no idea what that means," Becky admits.

"No one does," Zach tells her.

"Are you sure you two don't share a brain?" Jess asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"Try to knock me over," Sam says.

"What?" Wannabe asks.

"Try it," Sam tells him. "But don't hit me or anything, I'll stay upright, but you could probably still kill me if you're strong enough."

"Okay," Wannabe says, and charges.

—

That was not exactly what we were looking for. More romance, less people, and add a Winchester. Dean. Add Dean Winchester.

—

Dean doesn't know whether to be proud that he's getting better at hiding or worried that Sam is getting sloppy. He's got a tracker in Sam's computer, his phone, and most of his books.

He's pretty sure Sam knows about those, but he's got one in every pair of Sam's shoes, too, and in every piece of weaponry and belt Sam could possibly take with him on patrol.

Not that Sam seems to patrol much lately. At least not in his costume, the one he earned. The one Dean designed for Sam that kept him safe and let him move and had more thought put into it than most idiots even realize a fucking costume requires.

No, now he's got some blonde with him who, don't get Dean wrong, looks fucking hot in her costume. Plastic or latex or what the fuck ever that is she has on may not be practical, but it lets everyone know that she's got a rack that would make a porn star proud.

But Sam's got to go and match her, and he can't do half the shit she does, and it makes Dean sick to his fucking stomach to think about the kind of hits Sam's been taking. He downright refuses to let himself think about how many times Sam's probably been in the hospital since joining up with her.

She looks like she's taking care of him, though. And when he's with her, he smiles in a way Dean's always wanted to see Sam smile.

—

That is just not right at all. I give up; I don't even know where to try with you anymore. Just give the people a happy story before they all go start sobbing in corners. Any happy story.

—

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Sam.

Sam had a brother named Dean and a girlfriend named Jess.

They weren't always happy, and they were hurt and in danger more often than not.

But they all loved each other, more than the sun and the moon and the stars in the sky.

And, eventually, they got their happily ever after.

—

The end. Finally.


End file.
